Grip (The Slip Trilogy Book 2)

  Still. There’s something beautiful about the way the setting sun sprays pinks and purples over the junkyard. Something beautiful he wishes he could share with his brother.

  The sky is changing like his life has changed: fast and drastically. Although most would consider his new life a pathetic version of his old, he actually likes it better. Because it’s real.

  He remembers his old life, how bright and shiny and beautiful it looked on the outside, like a dazzling sunset. His fake life. His fake smiles. How he woke up every day and told himself that his friends and girlfriends and success in the hoverball arena were enough. Something to be proud of.

  Now that life is gone and he should feel sorry about losing it. He should want it back. And yet…

  He doesn’t. Not one tiny bit. Only now does he realize how tired he was of pretending to be happy. Because behind the painted-on smile and the high fives and the public make out sessions with Nadine was a fire, burning him alive from the inside out.

  And now he has a new life where he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not. He doesn’t have to make fun of his crazy mom just to make his friends laugh and feel better about himself. He doesn’t have to hide his true emotions.

  For him, this is a better life.

  “I think you should head back down,” one of the Lifer guards says to Harrison. Standing motionless on either side of the portal, he’d almost forgotten they were here. His silent companions, watching his every move. They wear all black. They carry big-time weapons. Expensive ones. Laser guns, the kind that’ll fry your brain from the inside out. The Lifers are well-funded; from where, he has no clue. The guards never let him stay more than a few minutes.

  “Just another minute,” he says.

  The male guard, Simon, glowers at him, puffing his chest out threateningly while tapping his gun’s trigger.

  The female guard says, “You’ve already had three extra minutes than you’re allowed.” Her name’s Minda. She’s pretty hot, with long lashes and brown Indian skin and jet-black raven hair, always pulled into a ponytail. She looks athletic, exactly his type.

  “I’m hitting Dark tonight, wanna come?” Harrison asks.

  “I already have a date,” Simon says in his thick French accent, “but thanks for asking.”

  Harrison laughs. “I meant Minda,” he says. “I mean, you’re a handsome man, but I usually prefer a little less facial hair. Not to mention the back hair I’m sure you hide beneath that uniform.” The guard’s face twitches, which is as good as a laugh as far as Harrison’s concerned. Maybe he’s making progress with these two.

  “Drop dead,” Minda says.

  Or maybe not.

  “Suit yourself,” he says. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Minda just rolls her eyes. “I prefer my men a little less pretty.”

  “So like Simon,” Harrison says, smiling. “He’s definitely not pretty.”

  “Not like Simon,” Minda says.

  “You can rough me up a little bit, if that’ll help?” Harrison offers.

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  He’s considering a dozen other witty and flirtatious comments, but his mouth falls closed when he spots movement in the junkyard. That wouldn’t be unusual except for the fact that the junkyard workers have all long gone home.

  “What? Is that all you’ve got to offer me?” Minda says. “Usually we can’t get you to shut up. Have you finally given up?”

  Harrison barely hears her, his attention focused on the scene unfolding in front of him. He takes a step forward, past the line he’s not supposed to cross.

  “Back up,” Simon says.

  Harrison ignores him, takes another step, pressing his face up to the portal. Simon grabs him, but he shoves him away, unable to tear his eyes from the junkyard.

  A dark-skinned girl skirts the edge of a rusty aut-car skeleton, the dying sun haloing the top of her head, where a hat poorly conceals a mop of frizzy brown hair. She’s hovering above the ground, easily dodging and leaping obstacles in the junkyard. She’s athletic and strong, using hoverskates rather than the hoverboard that Harrison prefers. However, it’s something else that catches his attention.

  She’s being chased by AttackDogs.

  There are three of them, their sleek steel frames flashing with streaks of silver and black. Their eyes are yellow beams of light, focused on their prey.

  “What the hell?” Minda says, pushing in beside him. Simon does the same, on the other side, but Harrison doesn’t look at either of them, watching as the robo-dog trio splits up, altering their pursuit pattern, their movements governed by some computer program designed to achieve the optimal results. Which in this case means catching and chewing on the girl.

  The lead AttackDog closes in on her, snapping a mouth full of vicious dagger-like teeth at her heels. Distracted by her pursuer, she doesn’t notice the long-dead aut-car in front of her, seeming to grow out of the junkyard like a metal flower. “Watch out!” Harrison shouts, forgetting that she can’t hear him through the soundproof portal.

  “Shut your mouth,” Simon says, trying to force him back. But Harrison keeps shouting, trying to warn her as she barrels toward a certain collision.

  And then, at the last second, she leaps, her feet carrying her impossibly high, soaring over the metal barrier.

  The guard releases Harrison and they watch in awe as the AttackDog crashes, metal shrieking, into the junk pile. It lets out a metallic yelp and rolls several meters before going still, lying on its side.

  Harrison almost wants to cheer, but he has no voice. She did it on purpose. She saw the aut-car the whole time and timed her jump perfectly.

  The hoverskater lowers her head and barrels forward, her arms swinging purposefully at her sides, trying to outrun the other two AttackDogs, which are threading their way through narrow gaps between the piles of junk.

  One of the dogs spots an opening and cuts through it, nearly colliding with the girl. It lunges for her head, but she ducks and it eats a mouthful of air. Harrison realizes he’s been holding his breath; he lets it out in a slow, steady, hot stream that fogs up the glass.

  Wiping the condensation with a hand, he gulps in another breath. Because, from his high vantage point, he can see what the girl can’t:

  The third AttackDog has managed to get well out in front of her, and is hiding, waiting to do exactly what it’s been programmed to do: attack. Clearly the two dogs are communicating somehow, the second dog is chasing her right toward his companion. She’s trapped.

  And between the two dogs rests the mountain of junk.

  “We’ve got to help her,” Harrison says.

  “Not a chance,” Simon says. “The portal cannot be opened except under special circumstances.”

  “I’d consider this pretty special,” Harrison says, reaching for a large button to the side of Simon.

  The bigger man grabs his arm and says, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  Harrison’s eyes meet his for a split-second, and he forces his face to relax, as if he knows he’s defeated. Which, in turn, makes Simon relax his muscles and grip for a split-second, long enough for Harrison to twist sharply and simultaneously bash the top of his forehead directly into the guard’s nose.

  There’s a crunch and a grunt and a spray of blood as Simon’s nose breaks. He crumples, clutching his face.

  Harrison can sense Minda behind him, so he lunges forward, slapping his palm against the button, hearing the whoosh! of the portal opening, from side to side. “Dammitdammitdammit,” Minda mutters under her breath. Harrison whirls around to face her, the tip of her laser pointed directly at his face. “What have you done?” she says, her mouth a tight line.

  Harrison knows there’s no time to spare, so he says, “Shoot me if you have to, but I’m going out that portal.”

  Minda shakes her head and he can see the resignation in her eyes. She’s not going to shoot him, even if she might want to. She drops the nose of the gun to
the floor and Harrison races past her.

  Outside, his eyes dart around, taking in the situation. The girl is racing through the junkyard, the dog nipping at her heels, just missing her with each swipe. She’s heading directly toward the base of the junk mountain. The other dog is nowhere to be seen, but Harrison knows he’ll be hiding in wait for her. The trap is set.

  He wishes he had his hoverboard, but it’s tucked safely beneath his bed back in the sleeping quarters. With no other choice, he plunges down the mountain, his feet tiptoeing and dancing on metal parts that break beneath his feet like loose rocks on a steep slope. With reckless abandon he charges down at an angle that he hopes will intersect the girl’s path.

  And then what?

  He hasn’t thought that far ahead and he doesn’t now, concentrating on his balance.

  He almost falls, drops a hand to steady himself, a sharp metal edge slicing his palm. But he regains his balance, his hand slick with warm blood. Just as he reaches the bottom of the mountain, which drops off a three meter wall to the junkyard floor below, he spots the other AttackDog, its bright yellow eyes giving away its presence in the shadows.

  Skittering to a stop before the drop off, he glances to his left, where the girl races along the base of the mountain, just out of reach of her pursuer, her eyes black spots of determination. There’s movement to his right as the other dog springs from the shadows, bounding forward to cut off the hoverskater’s path.

  Harrison knows if he jumps down they’ll both be dog meat. He has to somehow get her up to where he is. And fast.

  Nearby he notices a metal beam poking from the junk, hanging partly out from the mountain. Not knowing how deep it’s buried or how sturdy it is, he leaps forward and then shimmies his way out onto the beam. The girl’s eyes widen as she seems to spot both him and the other dog at the same moment.

  “Grab my arms!” Harrison shouts, swinging down like a monkey, gripping the beam tightly between his hamstrings and calves, using his knees as the pivot point.

  Upside down, he sees her skates first, then her torso, then her head, from top to bottom. And then he sees the AttackDog behind her, its movements lithe and athletic, too bot-lickin’ close for comfort. But the worst thing is knowing the other dog is somewhere behind him, closing in.

  He’s too high, he realizes. Despite the girl’s impressive jumping ability, she’ll never reach him, no matter how far he stretches. He needs another half-meter, at least.

  Doesn’t matter. He has to try. Clamping his legs tightly around the beam, he unfurls himself, trying to stretch his muscles and tendons and skin and bones as far as they’ll go, all the way to their breaking points. His arms ache and he reaches for the ground until his shoulders feel like they might burst from their sockets, his fingers stiff and straight, almost popping from his knuckles.

  The girl is right there, so close he can see the whites of her eyes surrounding deep brown orbs flecked with green, much lighter than the black spots they appeared to be from a distance. She jumps. In front of him, he can see one dog leap after her, while behind him he can sense the other doing the same.

  Time seems to stop as her eyes meet his, a knowing look crossing her face. The knowledge that he’s too high and she can’t jump high enough and that it’s over.

  Harrison feels a jerk and then he’s falling, his legs slipping away as his stretched body rips him off of the beam. There’s a strange pressure on his legs as the girl’s hands grab his arms, her forward momentum knocking him back, into the waiting jaws of the AttackDog, which will rip them both to shreds without remorse, as programmed by some egghead in a laboratory.

  He waits for the collision but it never comes. Instead, his fall stops suddenly and he swings away, the girl trailing beneath him, like a streamer. Her skates glance off one dog’s head while the other one flies past, its relentless jaws snapping and missing them.

  Wind slaps Harrison’s face as he swings forward, releasing the girl at the top of the arc, tossing her onto the junk mountain. Just before he swings back the other way, he sees her land roughly but safely, her hoverskates at the wrong angle to break her fall.

  Like a pendulum, Harrison whips back in the other direction, but he also feels his body being pulled upward. Somehow. Like magic. But slowly. As if gravity has reversed but become a lesser version of itself. Less powerful.

  He hears a grunt and a curse and someone say, “A little help would be appreciated.”

  Clenching his abdomen, he curls himself forward to look up. Minda, her bare arms tight, stares down at him, gripping his legs, straining at his weight.

  He almost wants to laugh, but he doesn’t dare, for fear that any unexpected movement might cause her to lose her grip. Instead, he does an inverted crunch, just like at the gym, and reaches all the way up to grab the beam, releasing his weight from Minda’s arms. He pulls himself up and breathes a sigh of relief.

  Minda glowers at him. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she says.

  “Neither should you,” he says, glancing down at the AttackDogs, which are prowling beneath them, growling.

  “What’s done is done,” she says, pointing her laser at him. No, not at him—she continues moving it in an arc, until it’s pointed at the dogs.

  She pulls the trigger and there’s a sound like a food-maker cooking chicken. A few moments later both AttackDogs are headless, wires protruding from their severed necks, sparking and smoking.

  “C’mon,” she says. “Let’s get the girl inside.”

  ~~~

  Article from the Saint Louis Times:

  New Head of Population Control Announced

  The highly anticipated appointment of the next Head of Population Control is now official, confirming the rumors that have been circulating since the discovery that Michael Kelly was, in fact, protecting a Slip—a Slip who turned out to be his own son. Mayor Strombaugh made the official appointment at a press conference in Saint Louis today, stating that “Corrigan Mars was the easiest appointment I’ve made in my career” and “I have the utmost confidence in the man who has shown his dedication to protecting our great city and country for almost two decades.”

  Corrigan Mars gave a brief speech after his appointment, promising that his first order of business would be to “bring the Saint Louis Slip, Benson Kelly, to justice.” When asked about the unconfirmed Slip sanctuary known simply as Refuge, Mars said, “If there is such a place, we will find it and destroy it.”

  Population Control pundits were abuzz with predictions as to how long it would take the new Pop Con chief to catch the Saint Louis Slip, with guesses ranging from a couple of days to several years.

  Have a comment on this article? Speak them into your holo-screen now. NOTE: All comments are subject to government screening. Those comments deemed to be inappropriate or treasonous in nature will be removed immediately and appropriate punishment issued.

  Comments:

  JasonWhat?: Kick some ass and take some names, Mars! We’re all rooting for you!

  AuthorizeMyChild: Comment removed and disciplinary action taken.

  CorriganMars: I want to thank Mayor Strombaugh, the city of Saint Louis, and all the citizens of RUSA for putting your faith in me. I won’t let you down.

  Chapter Eight

  The Destroyer had expected to be standing next to Corrigan Mars as he gave his speech. He’d expected to be officially recognized as his second-in-command. He’d expected to be asked questions, to have the spotlight shined on him.

  Instead, he was squirreled away in the hidden underground facility that created him, asked to rest his body and relax his mind and to prepare for his first mission.

  He didn’t rest his body.

  He didn’t relax his mind.

  He used his body to methodically smash a ring of holes in each of the four walls.

  He used his mind to curse Benson Kelly and his girlfriend for making him look like a fool and causing Corrigan Mars to lose faith in him.

  Because obviously that’s w
hat happened. It’s the only explanation for Mars not including him in today’s announcement. He watched it all on the giant holo-screen. Saw himself standing beside Mars in spirit, invisible to the rest of the world.

  When it was over he punched a hole in the holo-screen so big he could almost have crawled into it.

  And then he sat in a corner and fumed.

  In fact, he’s still fuming, even when the door opens and Mars walks in, a triumphant smile on his face. A smile that disappears the moment he sees Domino Destovan bent in the corner. The Destroyer watches as his boss’s eyes roam the walls, taking in first the crumbling walls and then the destroyed holo-screen.

  “You’ve been busy,” he says.

  The Destroyer says nothing.

  Corrigan Mars crosses the room and stands before him. “Better now?”

  “Not really,” the Destroyer says. “You’re ashamed of me.”

  “I’m not,” Mars says.

  “Then why?” Why was I destroying this room while you were mugging for the cameras and shaking the mayor’s hand? is what he means by the question.

  Mars’s bland expression gives nothing away. “You didn’t want to be there,” he says.

  Dom stares at him. Blinks. “Yes I did.”

  “You think you did,” Mars says. “But trust me, you didn’t. Being the face of Pop Con is my job. It’s not a fun one. I have to be…political. Or dishonest, which is basically the same thing. I can’t say the things I really want to say. I can’t be the man I really want to be. I always have to be thinking about what the people want me to be. We don’t need two people wasting time on that stuff. So I’ll handle that part of our job. I want you to handle the important parts. The real parts. The mission to catch the Slip. After all, you’re my secret weapon, and if you were on every holo-screen in RUSA, you wouldn’t be very secret, would you?”